


Folly of the Heart

by Words_of_Heresy



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mpreg, So Much Angst!!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Words_of_Heresy/pseuds/Words_of_Heresy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of weakness during Thorin's captivity has the elven lord with child. Thranduil shows up in Erebor, being forced to flee his own kingdom; seeking refuge under the mountain. But Thorin has not forgiven his old paramour, and is adamant to forget their love and marry Bilbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by a prompt from the Hobbit Kink Meme to write this, although I can't really dedicate it to the OP since she asked for a Fili/Thranduil ending.
> 
> Reposted from my fanfiction.net account under the same name.

Thranduil felt the branches scratch against his face as he rode through the dense underbrush. Every thump of the horse's hoofs against the earth shook him to the core. A simple gallop, now an epic feat in his exhaustion. On both sides the branches caught in his hair and silver robes, pulling him back, dragging him down, stopping him from leaving the forest. The tress recognized him, didn't understand his hurry, didn't want him gone...

_"Why did you bring me here?"_

_Thranduil walked around the dwarf. His captive was tied to a chair, naked and until moments ago blind folded and gagged. He was enjoying the power. Loved the control he possessed over this stubborn, proud, unreasonable being who had the atrocious fortune of owning his heart._

_"I wished to see you, Thorin, son of Thrain," he said simply and used both hands to remove the crown of berries and red leaves from his head, placing it on a nearby table. Then, with intricate grace he began to shed his clothing, one layer at a time, until he was left in nothing but his under cloth. Turning around he found the dwarf's heated gaze fixed firmly on him, scalding him. Sighing he walked back to the chair and used the back of the seat to swing into Thorin's lap._

_"I want us to reconnect again my love," he said, straddling the dwarf, "for what was between us and what is now, is simply the product of hurt pride and grave misunderstanding."_

_Thorin spat at him. Slowly and with complete control, Thranduil wiped the spit from his cheek._

_"I guess it was rash of me to expect civility from a dwarf," he drawled and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Thorins. "Perhaps," he said and sucked on the shell of the dwarf's ear until he heard a promising hitch of breath, "I would have more success, if I just showed you."_

There was a shout from behind him and an arrow whizzed past his head and into the trunk of an ancient oak. Another sailed under his arm, just barely missing his mount's ear. They wanted him dead. Dead or alive, is what they said. The council agreed that it would be unwise to depose a king simply for a misunderstanding. All would be forgiven, they had said, if he would simply drink the potion. An ancient brew, made from the Élan berries of Foghorn. A purification elixir that rid the body of all depended life forms within it.

_"Stop!" roared the dwarf_

_"Why?" he asked, "when you are so clearly enjoying it…"_

_"I've moved on elf, I don't love you anymore," hissed his captive, even as he thrust against Thranduil's loincloth._

_"Is that so," he drawled, making a point to grind his hips, so the dwarf's impressive length lodged in the crease between his cheeks. Its passage restrained only, by a thin stretch of fine linen, wet and sheer from the dwarfs pre-cum._

_"I was under the impression," he continued, undulating his hips so the dwarf's length rubbed teasingly against the fabric, "that dwarfs loved only once."_

_Thorin groaned when Thranduil lifted himself from the chair and took a teasing step away from him. With nimble fingers he untied his loincloth and let the tortured fabric fall to the ground. Thorin growled; his eyes black with lust. He jerked his hands against the binds, and made another feral sound at the sight before him; so temptingly close and yet not nearly close enough._

_"Is it not so?" teased Thranduil_

_"No elf," barked the dwarf. "Only foolish elves like yourself, who never bother to expand their knowledge beyond their own kin, would believe something so stupid."_

_Thranduil wasn't fooled for a moment, but managed to hold his tongue. Instead he swung himself back onto the dwarf, and reaching back, grabbed hold of the heavy length and began to guide it into his passage._

_"Are you crazy," roared Thorin, and began shifting about to shake him off, "you didn't cover me with oil, you stupid elf. I will ruin you!"_

_"Is that concern I hear, Thorin son of Thrain," smirked Thranduil._

_The dwarf pursed his lips and said no more, glaring vehemently at the elf. Turning his smirk into a genuine smile, Thranduil leaned in to place a loving kiss to the dwarf's lips, a relic of better years._

_"You need not worry for me meleth," he said as he forced the head of the dwarf's shaft through his moist sphincter, and allowed gravity to sink him, "I have prepared myself in anticipation for you."_

Thranduil lifted himself in the saddle for the jump ahead, sailing cleanly over the fallen tree, but landing heavily over the neck of his mount. She made an unimpressed snort, but blessedly didn't slow as he pulled himself back up. Of course he'd refused. A life, no matter how unexpected or unwanted was still a life. This was not a parasite, but a being living inside him; or to be more precise, two precious beings. He would die before snuffing them from existence.

_"I've missed this," he hissed, letting his eyes fall closed in pure bliss at the familiar burn. Thorin was using what little freedom he had to roll his hips and thrust under his weight._

_"Patience my love," he whispered, grabbing hold of the muscular shoulders. Carefully he began lifting himself up and falling back down in slow leisurely swings._

_"Faster," Thorin growled. It was clear the dwarf was struggling. His pride hating him for enjoying this; this familiar comfort that once bought them both so much joy._

_"No, I believe I will take my time," he said, lifting himself until only the head remained before sinking back down. "For who knows how long it may be, before I get to enjoy this again."_

_"Never," roared Thorin, "never again!"_

_"See," conceded the elf, "all the more reason to enjoy myself now, while I still have this 'golden'" he purred the word, "opportunity." Thorin was sweating and grinding his teeth together, so after a few more thrusts, Thranduil took pity on the dwarf and began to speed up his movements._

He saw a promising glimpse of an open field. That must mean the edge of the forest was within reach. Silently he thanked Illuvater for his fortune. The shots from behind had ceased, but the lack of flying arrows only served to worry him as to why they had stopped. When the ground changed shape and the last of the branches released his garments, Thranduil was once more assaulted by his thoughts. The council had not taken kindly to being snubbed; over the course of three weeks they thrice more ordered him to take the potion, but thrice he did refuse. When it was clear that he would rather die then do as instructed, they called forth the guards to hull him to the dungeons until an execution date was set.

_"Harder," he screamed_

_"I could if you would untie me," Thorin growled, trying his best to keep up with Thranduil's pace._

_"I don't trust you to finish, and not run away as soon as your legs are free," gasped the elf._

_"You have guards posted at the door elf, where would I go," said the dwarf throwing his head back, and biting his bottom lip in order to stow an oncoming orgasm._

_"No," the elf stuttered, "no guards. They wouldn't," he moaned and fell into Thorin, to rest his face in the crook of his neck, "approve."_

_"I won't leave," growled the dwarf, "I promise."_

_"Ah," Thranduil screamed as his own orgasm raced towards him, "no!"_

_"Trust me," screamed the dwarf, even as his hips beat out of rhythm into the elf._

The Elvenking went peacefully, dignified to the very end. He remained in that cold cell for hours, gently holding his lower belly and humming old Elven nursery rhymes. The thought that he would never see his children born, never see them grow-up had had so devastated him, that for the first time since his father's passing Thranduil cried. He had failed them, just as he failed Thorin. He didn't deserve to live. They did, but they wouldn't; their only crime, to be conceived inside him. So overwhelmed with grief was he, that he failed to notice the decent of another elf into the dungeons.

It was Legolas and he held a key in his left hand and small satchel in his right.

"Go," he had said, "leave now, through the back entrance and go to the West Wing stables, there you'll find a mount I had prepared for you." He unlocked the door and waited for Thranduil to exit before grabbing a hold of both his shoulders and pulling the startled king into a hug. "Ride like you've never ridden before Ada, ride and do not stop. Ride to Erebor and plead the king for mercy. Only he can help you now."

Thranduil kissed his son on the brow, grabbed the satchel and rushed for the door. He managed to get to the West Wing and mount his steed before the alarms went off. Quick as fire he fled into the forest, preying the loyal greenwood would shield him and his babes from harm long enough for him to leave the kingdom and its vengeful subjects.

_It was too late; the onslaught of orgasm was not to be swayed. It crushed over them like a tidal wave, rolling them both ashore, like a couple of beached fish; gasping for air and shaking from cold._

A field opened up before him and he kept his horse in a gallop until the forest of Mirkwood was nothing more than a black wall in the distance. He slowed into a walk when he came upon Laketown and reaching into the satchel, removed a thin hooded cloak. He threw it around his shoulders, pulling the hood over his head to hide his face.

Thranduil rode through the town as nothing more than a merchant. By the time he exited the village night had fallen and the hustle and bustle of the streets became replaced by the chirping of crickets and the distant howling of wolves. He rode on, past the cemetery of Dale where hundreds of souls were laid to rest on that fateful day Samaug attacked. Further down over a creek where his mount paused to take a lengthy drink of water. Finally he reached the gates of Erebor, fatigued and barely able to hold himself up in the saddle.

"Who goes here?" Thranduil startled at the austere growl. There before him, a few meters ahead, stood a dwarf. A guard from the looks of his uniform. He held himself with the authority common of his people as he leisurely approached the horse and peered up at the elf with beady, suspicious eyes.

"Thranduil, King of Mirkwood," he replied, and praised his voice for not failing him.

"Ai, if that be so, how come you're alone on this road. No Elven convoy in toe, just yourself on a filthy horse with twigs dangling in your hair?" the dwarf asked, then as if remembering himself, with a mocking tone added "your majesty."

"I will not have it," said Thranduil, with all the strength of authority ingrained in him from years of being king "that a subject of Erebor, will speak to me with such disrespect. I am a royal guest, and I will not stand this kind of treatment. Take me to see King Thorin at once, and I may yet refrain from mentioning your poor manners!" He finished on a regal note that left no room for argument. The dwarf looked nervously from the elf to the mountain behind him, and then back.

"Ai," he agreed, "you may pass than. Just tell the guards at the front Guron let you by and that you wish to see the king, and they'll take you to him."

Nodding the elf made a gentle kick to his mount so she would start walking again and began to ascend the rocky path to the cave where the entrance hid. Once he was close enough to the stables he dismounted and tied her to a stable post.

"Master dwarf," he called to a sleeping young stable hand. The boy jolted awake and fell of the side of the barrel on which he sat. Sitting up on the ground he looked shocked at the sight before him.

"Take care of her for me," Thranduil said and waited until the dwarf nodded in assent, "make sure to give her nothing but the best treatment." The dwarf made another nod and reached inside his hat to scratch the back of his head in puzzlement. Thranduil understood; this must all be very confusing for him. It wasn't every night that an elf decided to grace the Lonely Mountain with his presence, especially not without a fair amount of due notice, and never at such inappropriate time of day.

Thranduil gave him a grateful smile for his troubles before turning to walk to the mountain entrance. There before him stood two more dwarrow guards. Burly and stocky like oak trunks they were; they held spears that towered a full head over their own, and wore formal looking helmets that ran down the bridge of their noses so only their eyes and beards could be seen.

"Halt, who goes here?"

"I am Thranduil, King of Mirkwood."

The dwarfs exchanged hesitant looks.

"I was told by Guron," continued the elf, "that you will take me to see the King."

The one with the ginger beard nodded and spun around on his heels.

"Follow me," he barked, with his back turned towards Thranduil, and the elf couldn't help but feel slighted with the rude gesture. Still he began to follow the guard into the mountain. Down the hall they went, taking twists and turns, all the while going lower and lower. There was a moment when the elf felt sick at the sudden drop of pressure at being so far below sea level, but then his stomach settled and he was free to move on. On and on they went, down countless flights of steps until at last they stood before the golden doors of the throne room. The guard whispered something to another guard standing before the entrance, and the former vanished through a gap in the door, reappearing a moment later to say something crude sounding to his guide in Khazdul. Thranduil knew many languages, but he never bothered to learn Khazdul; his father having taught him from a young age that dwarves were inferior species, and therefore not learning their tongue was of no great consequence.

The ginger laughed, clapped the other dwarf on the shoulder and began walking back the way he came. The new guard looked at Thranduil and clearing his throat, began to make a formal announcement in a booming voice, so that everyone in the throne room could easily hear.

"King Thorin the Second, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain grants an audience to you, Thranduil, King of Mirkwood," before spinning on his heels and pushing the doors open. The dwarf stepped aside and with a formal bow gestured for him to go ahead. Taking a deep breath, Thranduil ran his hands down the front of his robes and slightly extended middle. Once he felt himself more composed, he straightened his stance and with all the confidence of a king, walked into the throne room.


	2. Chapter 2

Thorin was sitting on his throne, regal and upright. There was an air of hostility radiating from him as he stared down at the elf king from across the room. Beside him stood the Halfling, or more precisely he was perched on the armrest of the throne, one leg on the floor for balance. Thranduil walked up at a measured pace, once he reached the steps he bowed at the waist and tilted his head in placation; blue eyes fixed on Thorin's stern gaze.

"What brings you to my kingdom, Elvenking?" asked the dwarf, his every word dripping with disdain, "at this late hour, alone and unannounced?"

"A matter of a delicate nature that I wish to discuss with you alone," he said with a pointed look at the hobbit.

"Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of him, elf." Thranduil noticed how Bilbo shifted uncomfortably in his seat looking nervously at his feet.

"I'm uncertain that it will be wise to…" started Thranduil but Thorin cut him off.

"I said, speak for I will not ask my intended to leave the room, on your behalf elf. We hold no secrets from each other."

'Intended!' he thinks, and were he able to grow any paler all color would have drained from his skin. 'How could it be?' It has only been three months since Erebor was reclaimed. Such a fleeting amount of time for an elf, and yet while he was confined in his kingdom and forced to endure weeks of countless trials and meetings with the Elven council, the world did not stop. And now his dwarf, for no matter what lay between them Thranduil will always think of Thorin as his, was getting married. Was leaving him behind. 'And for a Halfling no less', he cannot help but think bitterly, hiding his emotions behind a flawless mask; for over the centuries it was mastered to such perfection, that nothing would give away his true grief.

"Congratulations King under the Mountain," he bowed and turned towards the hobbit, "Master Baggins," he added with another bow. The Halfling blushed. He looked ready to say something but was interrupted by Thorin, who very openly gave his lover a hearty pat on the knee. Thranduil bit his tongue.

"Yes merry news indeed," his hand remained patting Bilbo, but his eyes never once left the Elvenking's. "Now your highness, I ask once more. What brings you to my mountain at this hour and so lacking in security and councilmen?"

Thranduil wanted to feel bad for Bilbo, but his heart was full of vicious jealousy. He craved to see the Halfling's world shatter at the news he was forced to reveal.

"I come to you to seek sanctuary Thorin son of Thrain," the dwarf appeared overcome by surprise; for a moment Thranduil swore he saw something akin to worry flash in those eyes, but as soon as it showed it vanished, to be once more replaced by narrow eyed disdain.

"And why, pray tell me, do you need sanctuary?"

"I have bought shame upon my people by fornicating with a dwarf," Thorin growled and shot up from his throne. The hobbit, Thranduil noted with a touch of bitterness, remained outwardly unaffected.

"And how is that a crime, it is not like said dwarf wants anything more to do with you." Thranduil flinched, and although the reaction was involuntary it flooded his cheeks with shame. He's never felt as cheap as he did in this moment. Being looked down upon by his former lover and his new consort. Dismissed like a human harlot seeking lodgment with a patron and his wife.

"I'm afraid," he tried to contain the tone of his voice, "the ramifications of our last affair have rather permanent consequences." The king retained a confused frown, but Thranduil noted how Bilbo's face began melting in understanding.

"Speak plainly elf, what permanent consequences could there be?"

"A child," he deadpanned and watched Thorin's face begin to pale, "or two, to be more precise. I carry twins from a dwarf and my people find this action to be the heart of betrayal."

The dwarf took a couple of steps back until his legs hit the seat of his throne and he fell heavily into it. The hobbit hesitated before tentatively placing his hands on the dwarf's shoulders. He began massaging gently, face leaning down to whisper quietly in the dwarf's ear. All the many times Thranduil had been the one doing the very same thing in an effort to calm the dwarf after some or other trying delegation, came forth in his mind. He wanted to cry, but then he remembered himself and decided he'd rather strangle the stupid Halfling. The thought startled him. Where did it come from? He'd always liked Bilbo, and during the war he found him both incredibly helpful and surprisingly pleasant. And he never dreamt of reuniting with Thorin after that final night in the palace; knew in his heart that Thorin would eventually be obligated to marry. So why did these dark and unnatural feelings plague him so? He decided to say something, if only to stave his thoughts.

"I plead sanctuary within Erebor, King Under the Mountain, for the duration of my confinement. After the labor I will require another two month to recover before we can leave; at which point I swear on Mirkwood, the babes and I will not bother you again."

Thorin looked somewhat better. Whatever the Halfling had said to him must have worked to calm him. Now he was glaring at the elf with the same disdain he maintained initially. The hobbit, for his part, was watching the elf with pity. Thranduil wanted to snarl at him.

"I spoke with my consort and he has convinced me, begrudgingly, to allow you to stay for the remainder of your pregnancy plus two month for recovery, under the care of my people and the protection of my land. "

Thranduil opened his mouth to deliver the necessary gratitude.

"However," Thorin barked, "this does not come from any personal desire to assist you or make your life easier in this struggle which you bought upon yourself," Thranduil didn't bother denying it. "Rather I wish to assist the healthy delivery of my children, for dwarfs struggle to reproduce at the best of times, and any dwarrow or half dwarrow children are considered a blessing from Aulë."

Thranduil swallowed, he didn't like where this was going.

"Therefore, upon the delivery of my children I will allow you a period of no more than two month to nurse them and recover your health. Then you will be forced to seek refuge elsewhere. The children however," he intoned darkly, "will remain here."

"No!" cried Thranduil.

"I don't believe you have a choice," Thorin drawled, leaning leisurely back in his throne. "I'd like to see you try your luck in Laketown," he added maliciously and glared down at the panicked elf. "I would bet my kingdom you won't be there a week before they force your penniless hide into service at a brothel; or capture and sell you to slavers to be traded away in the lands across the sea."

Thranduil couldn't repress a shudder. He knew Thorin was right. A lonely elf, desperate and poor was an easy target. Humans saw elves as both fearless and noble but in the dark recess of their minds only beheld their beauty and profit. If he were traded, his children would know no better life than him. Be it slavery or the whorehouse that would become their life also, for he who owned the elf would automatically claim rights to his offspring. If he were caught by the elves, he would be executed thus similarly destroying his children's future. The option offered by Thorin, however heartbreaking, was the only one that allowed him peace in the knowledge that his children would not be mistreated or abused; for as spiteful as Thorin could be, Thranduil knew he had a golden spirit, and would treasure the babes with all his heart; regardless of whether he could be made to admit it. Logically it would be selfish to refuse the king, simply to hold on to them; for their best chance to prosper now lay right here in Erebor, with their father and without him.

"I…" he swallowed before he could force himself to finish, "I…consent."

The gleam in Thorin's eyes caught the light of the gold, and reflected maliciously back at him. The hobbit was biting his lower lip and looking nervously between them, as if at any moment the tension might snap and he will have to jump in and separate them.

"Splendid!" boomed the king and rose from his seat with a grand gesture. "I will have a guard escort you to your quarters. I will also have one of them bring you something to eat, and I will expect you to join us for breakfast tomorrow morning in the main hall, I will send a page to assist you."

Thranduil watched Thorin speak with a smile on his lips, all bitterness seemingly forgotten. He couldn't help but hate him in that moment; couldn't help but hate how nonchalant he was being after so viciously wounding the elf with his heartless demands. He was tearing away his heart, taking it from him and throwing him away. He was going to leave him heartbroken and shattered; with no future, no money and nothing to live for. All he has lost for the right to protect all he has gained was now going to be taken from him. In the end no matter how important this decision was for his children, Thranduil couldn't help but feel wounded at prospect of desolation. After all the sacrifices he has made, it failed to feel just.

"Yes your highness," said the elf, his voice lacking emotion. This must have bothered the dwarf for he frowned at him and demanded he call him Thorin.

"You'll be staying here for eight months, I think it is only fair," he said; making a great show of conceding this small favor. He looked to Bilbo for approval, who only sighed and dragged a hand down his face. Thranduil gave Thorin a tight-lipped smile.

"Of course. If you will excuse me, I would like to retire for the night. It seems the day's events have drained me terribly."

Thorin nodded and called for a guard. A moment later, the same guardsman who announced Thranduil's arrival marched over and bowed to the king.

"Take the Elvenking to the first guest room on the third floor. Place a guard outside and send an order to the kitchen to prepare a meal for him."

The guard nodded and with another bow, began marching back to the door; Thranduil followed him after saying his own parting pleasantries. The hobbit peered uneasily at him from under his fringe of curls and Thorin just waved him off, but he was still a king and if he couldn't leave with his dignity, he will act like he'd never lost it.

The walk to the third floor was long and tiring and by the time Thranduil reached his room, he was all but ready to collapse. The dwarf unlocked the door and pushed it open stepping aside to allow Thranduil to enter.

"I will have the food delivered to you shortly, your highness."

The elf nodded and stepped around him. The bed called to him like an island to a drowning man and he walked towards it as if in a trance, until he was close enough to simply fall backwards atop the covers; and there they found him an hour later, sleeping on his side, one arm protectively curled around his stomach, knees drawn up in a fetal pose. The dwarfs exchanged looks and lay the tray on the bedside table before quietly exiting the room.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

A loud knock on the door roused Thranduil from slumber. He stretched and opened his eyes. Their were no windows in his room being so far underground, but someone had come in to light the candles on the ceiling chandelier. The flickering flames gave the room a warm, orange glow.

Another knock broke through his thoughts and Thranduil sat up and made himself decent before clearing his throat.

"Yes, come in," he said.

A moment later the doors were pushed open. A young dwarf came in and bowed low to the king. Thranduil acknowledged him with a tilt of his head.

"Your highness, the King requests your presence in the dining hall for breakfast," he said in a burly tone, so strangely mismatched with his youth. The elf smiled.

"I will freshen up and get dressed, then I'll need someone to escort me there, would you mind…" Thranduil stretched his words expectantly.

"Vart, your majesty,"

"Vart," repeated the elf, "would you be so kind as to escort me to breakfast?"

The dwarf blushed and shuffled his feet awkwardly on the spot.

"Of course your majesty, that's why King Thorin sent me here,"

Thranduil nodded and rose from the bed, his robe from yesterday weighing him down. He walked across the room to a mirror and looked himself over. There were tears and missing pieces of fabric in the delicate clothes. Patches of mud and grime hemmed the bottom part of the garment. He looked atrocious.

"Master Vart, I do believe I am in need of a change of clothes. Do you know where I can obtain some in my size?"

"Yes your majesty, King Thorin requested I bring you these."

Quickly he retreated behind the door and returned a moment later, wheeling a small cart piled high with folded laundry. On closer inspection Thranduil noticed that they were Elven made attire. When the cart was parked at the foot of his bed he walked over and lifted the garment on top, shaking it loose. He almost dropped it when he recognized the design, the intricate pattern of silver on navy blue silk.

"These are mine," he whispered.

Vart, nodded vigorously in agreement. "Yes the king said you are free to keep them, since he has no use for them himself."

Thranduil sighed and briefly fingered through the rest of the clothing. All his. He still remembered when visits to Erebor became such a common occurrence that he insisted Thorin let him keep a draw in his room. The dwarf had protested and argued quite passionately that such a major step was unhealthy to take so soon in their budding courtship. Still Thranduil found himself leaving behind more and more of his clothes, and Thorin, who clearly hadn't the heart to dispose of them, began to store them at the bottom of his bedroom closet. One day Thranduil was delayed in his arrival to Erebor. He got so caught up in his business he forgot to send a messenger raven to his prince. By the time he arrived, it was well past the hour of midnight and the entire mountain, save of course for the watchmen, was fast asleep. Sneaking quietly to his lover's room, Thranduil forwent knocking and gently pushed open the bedroom door. Thorin was on the bed, sleeping quietly like a babe. Yet when Thranduil approached him, he saw something that had his heart melting and his face break out into a brilliant smile. There, clutched in his sleeping dwarf's hands, was one of his own robes. The prince had the fabric pressed against his face, breathing though it; his arms and legs were wrapped around it like a lifeline...

"My lord! Your majesty!"

Thranduil drifted free from his reminisce, and turned towards the dwarrow.

"Yes,"

"I was just saying that we must hurry. The king doesn't like to be kept waiting," he spoke nervously at his feet. Smiling to ease the boy, Thranduil lifted himself from the bed and still clutching the fresh robe in his hand walked to the bathroom.

After a quick shower and use of the facilities, the elf reappeared fully dressed in his clean clothes. He smiled at Vart and indicated for him to lead the way to the dining hall.

The walk there was rather refreshing and although Thranduil's stomach rolled with the first signs of morning sickness, he had to admit he quite enjoyed the opportunity to stretch his legs. When they got there Vart announced his arrival and pushing the doors open, eagerly waved him through. Thranduil gave him a parting smile and the dwarf shot one shyly back in return, giving a quick bow before rushing out and shutting the door behind him.

The room went quite, and he noticed how only one table was occupied. It was a long dinner table covered by a huge span of white linen. The surface was covered with great, jewel incrusted bowls of fruit and large, silver beakers of juice and water. There were long nosed pots of coffee and a huge golden samovar in the center of the table. Around it were several giant platters filled with cuts of meat, cheese, toast and pickled vegetables. In the centre of each platter lay a dozen or so boiled eggs.

At the head of the table sat Thorin, surrounded on both sides by his company of friends who helped him reclaim Erebor. Directly on the left of the King sat Bilbo and directly to the right sat his nephews; first Fili, being as he was the heir, and then Kili. Thranduil noticed there was only one seat left at the table, and that was between two rather dangerous looking dwarfs.

"Ah Thranduil, you've finally decided to join us," mocked Thorin, "and I was beginning to think you've changed your mind in the night, hung tail and ran." There was a chorus of hearty laughter from the dwarfs.

"I apologies Thorin," Thranduil swallowed his pride, "my state of exhaustion from last night, taxed me more than I had …"

"I understand elf," interrupted the king, waving him off with a dismissive gesture. "Come now, sit, eat and tell us of your plight King of Mirkwood. I'm rather interested to inquire as to the happenings in your kingdom, now that you've been deposed."

Thranduil suppressed a wince, nodded and walked around the table to sit between the two dwarfs, who were giving him the evil eye over their shoulders. The elf noted with some curiosity, that the smaller one had an axe stuck in his forehead.

"Lord Thranduil would you like some fruit?" asked someone politely and the elf recognized an old dwarf with elaborate braids. He was stretching over the table towards him with a bowl of fruit.

"Thank you," he said and lifted a vine of red grapes from the dish to place on his own plate. The dwarf smiled and replaced the bowl on the other side of the table. He remembered how during the battle of the five armies, this dwarf, Dori if memory serves him well, was corned against the side of the mountain by half a dozen goblins. He was fighting an orc nearby when he noticed the uneven battle. Quickly he struck down his foe and interceded the goblin swarm, cutting them down with the practiced ease of a seasoned warrior. It was only later, when he was free to face the dwarf whose life he had saved, that Thranduil became aware of another dwarf hiding behind the first. He was on the ground, both hands clutching at the arrow lodged in his thigh. From the similarity of their features the elf figured they must be kin. He called forth an elf, and while the other covered him with a bow, carried the young dwarf of to the side of the battlefield where there was little combat. Dori had followed him fretfully the whole way, holding the young dwarfs hand. When Thranduil left them, he swore he heard a 'thank you Elvenking,' but it was swept away by the wind.

"What is you name, Master Dwarf?" he asked curiously and the dwarf smiled brightly at him and made an offhanded bow.

"Dori, at your serves," he said.

Thranduil returned the smile, grateful to see one friendly face in the crowed. Turning to the left of the dwarf, he smiled.

"And what is your name?" he asked gently.

"I'm Ori the royal scribe," bragged the young dwarf, standing up so he could stare down the elf. Dori grabbed his upper arm and yanked him back down in his seat. Thranduil hid a laugh behind his cloth napkin.

"I apologize your highness…" began Dori.

"No don't apologize for me," said the youth, "he locked us up like animals he did, in those frigid dungeons of 'is. If it wasn't for Bilbo, we'd all still be there, till kingdom come."

"That's right," said another dwarf, who Thranduil recognized as one of Thorin's nephews. "He doesn't deserve any kindness from us, when he didn't share any himself."

"Yeah," he was backed up by his blonde brother, and given a hearty pat on the back, "why do we have to treat him like royalty, when he treated us like dirt?"

"Yeah, he locked us up he did," said the scribe, nodding at Fili.

"And saved your life," growled Dori, staring his brother down. The youth immediately deflated and sagged in his seat. "Or are you so quick to forget," continued Dori, "that had it not been for the good grace of this elf, you and I would never had seen the splendor of Erebor."

Ori fidgeted in his seat but eventually looked up across the table to meet the elf's eyes, "I'm sorry," he said, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"It's fine," Thranduil nodded, "I don't blame you," he turned to look both ways, "any of you," he said louder, "for holding a grudge for the mean treatment you saw in my halls. I admit now it wasn't the right course of action to take, but under the circumstance and on the advice of my council it was meant to be the most effective. However it was not, and I apologies for having detained you in such foul manner in my court."

There was a moment of whispered conversation among the dwarfs as they looked around at each other before they all turned to face him.

"We don't hold it against you laddie. Yee fought bravely beside us in the battle against our foes, and that kind of valor to a dwarf is enough to sat aside any and all misgivings we might 'ave held against yee," said the oldest looking dwarf. Thranduil nodded.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice tinged by a note of embarrassment, "I cannot recall your names?"

"That's because you never asked," growled Thorin, but was shushed by his consort, who was looking upon the scene with great interest.

"Balin, at your service," said the oldest looking dwarf with a white beard.

"Oin, at ye service," said the dwarf next to him, holding a metal hearing horn by his ear.

"Gloin, at your service," said a ginger dwarf sitting beside him and so they went until all the company has introduced themselves, save of course for Dori and Nori, who were already familiar with the elf. When they were all done, Thranduil thanked then all graciously and began to eat his grapes. The conversation began to grow around him and he remained silent in the enjoyment of his food. That is until he felt someone's eyes on him and turned to catch Thorin turning away from him. Thranduil frowned, was Thorin watching him eat? He dismissed the incident and picked a mandarin from the fruit bowl that he asked Dori to pass. Peeling the fruit, he proceeded to pull free one segment at a time, sliding them leisurely between his lips. That's when he felt it again, and this time when he turned Thorin continued to stare at his mouth where yet another piece of fruit was being deposited.

The elf pushed it through his lips with the tip of his index finger and watched as the dwarf's eyes narrowed in contempt.

"Elf," he barked and Thranduil chocked on his food, coughing hazardously until Dwalin conceded to give him a pat on the back. "What will happen to Mirkwood, in your absence. Who will be king?" Thorin continued, once the elf had composed himself and taken a drink of water.

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly, "before I escaped…"

"Escaped? I thought they banished you?" interrupted the dwarf.

"No, I was tried for my crime and given two options by the Elven council, death or a miscarriage. Then…"

"Wait," barked the dwarf, "how can they force a miscarriage?" Thranduil noticed Oin roll his eyes.

"There is an ancient Elven brew that…"

"Trust elves to create a brew to poison prenatal babes," snorted the dwarf king, and Thranduil forced his lips together into a tight line. The hobbit must have picked up on his demeanor for he gave his lover an admonishing slap on the shoulder. Thorin turned to him with startled expression that screamed, 'what? what did I say?!"Bilbo rolled his eyes.

"As I was saying," Thranduil pressed on with a hint of impatience, "the council ordered me to consume it, I refused and they sentenced me to death. I was escorted to the dungeons," he heard another amused snort from Thorin, and took a moment to prey to Eru for patience before continuing; "where I remained until my son Legolas, freed me from my cell and helped me escape the kingdom on horseback. Then I rode here to seek sanctuary."

"And the kingdom?" asked Thorin.

"Probably in the hands of the senior council or reinstated to the next of kin in the royal family."

"So Legolas is the new King of Mirkwood?"

"Possibly," nodded the elf, "but like I said, I am not certain of anything that occurred past my departure. The council never doubted that I would do what is right by my people, and in their eyes that was to drink the brew. They never planned to depose me, hence they most likely didn't know what to do when I refused."

"Why didn't you?" asked the king, his voice softer and more compassionate. It startled the elf.

"Because they are," ' _our_ ', "my children," he said, swallowing the courage to say what he wanted.

Thorin's eyes narrowed but a moment later the scowl eased from his face.

"I see," he said and took a swallow from his cup. "Well than, when we have finished our breakfast, I will have Ori take you down to the library where you are free to select a couple of books that suit your interest. Then you will be escorted back to your quarters until dinner. We do not lunch together for we work to far spread across the mountain for it to be convenient, so I will have a page bring food to your room," he explained. "I would rather not have a nosy elf snooping about my kingdom," he said with a glare, which Thranduil full-heartedly returned. "So I would have you remain in your room, under guard, to rest and entertain yourself until dinner, is that understood?"

Thranduil forced his expression to remain neutral and inclined his head to the side. His wide, clear, blue, eyes holding nothing but frigid anger.

"As you wish, Thorin, son of Thrain," he's voice cool and melodic, put-upon to control his temper.

"Than that's settled, Ori please show our guest the library when he is finished his breakfast;" the scribe nodded. "Alright I'm off to the north wing, to supervise the opening of a new welding station," he said, then turned to face Bilbo, "I'll come by your shop in the afternoon so we can go through the guest list together," he bent down to place a gentle kiss on the hobbits lips. Somewhere to the left of Thranduil a fork snapped, the sound dulled by the grip of a hand. Only an elf's sensitive hearing could pick up such a sound, and he shot a curious look at the dwarf who's entire complexion had darkened significantly. He was frowning and biting his lower lips, his cheeks stained with angry rouge. Thranduil recalled he was called Bofur. 'Interesting,' he thinks, 'either his dwarf has a secret admirer or Thorin has competition.'

The Halfling blushed, and shyly turned away. "Ok," he said, "I'll be sorting the parchment and ink samples for the invitations, so we can look at them as well when you come around."

"Sounds promising," hushed the dwarf and rubbed their noses together, before pulling away and with a final smile at the hobbit and wave at his friends he strode from the room. Thranduil watched the rest of the party chatting while they finished off their breakfasts. And one by one they began to leave the hall. When it was just him, Dori, Ori, Nori and Bombur left, he finished his tea and waited for Ori to do the same before suggesting they head to the library. As much as he wasn't looking forward to being confined in his room, part of Thranduil couldn't wait to see the grand library of Erebor again. He'd only wished Thorin had allowed him the small favor of staying there to read the books.

When they got there the elf was astounded to see so many shelves of books once again. They appeared larger and grander than in his memory, and he spent a good hour going through the massive shelves and picking up random novels until his feet couldn't carry him anymore. So he sank to the floor with a few chosen books and began to leaf thought them eagerly. Ori stood by and let him enjoy a moment of quiet reading before he reminded the elf that Thorin requested he be escorted back to his quarters when he was done selecting his books.

Sighing the elf consented to being accompanied back to his room, which Ori insisted on doing personally shooing away the excited page who gazed at the elf like he was the most beautiful being in all creation.

"Shoo Ryn. Get out of here you little brat," said the scribe, pushing the wide-eyed dwarfling from the room. " _I_  will escort his majesty to 'is chambers, for Durin knows you'll get lost 'alf way there, for spending much time watching our guest, than where you're meant to be going!"

"I won't get lost Uncle Ori, I promise. Please can I show the elf to his room?"

"No," snapped the dwarf and ushered the ginger boy from the library. Quickly slamming the door behind him.

"Is he your nephew?" asked Thranduil.

"Yes, he's Nori's lad. The first of five little horrors."

The elf laughed and allowed Ori to escort him to another door. They walked at a leisure pace back to the third floor. Thranduil thought the dwarf must feel bad for the elf's entrapment and was doing what little he could to prolong their walk.

"I have read that one," the dwarf pointed at the top book in the elves arms. "It is quite a tale."

"Is that so," said the elf, "well in that case I guess I have chosen well for I enjoy a good adventure."

"'Ave you not 'ad enough of them as it is, being as old as you are, and all?" asked the dwarf, his brows drawing together in confusion.

"Indeed," laughed the elf, "I have seen my fair share of battles and adventures in my youth; but when I became king my adventures were once more, as in my childhood, mostly confined to the pages of books; such is the weight of the crown."

Ori nodded and they walked the rest of the way in companionable silence. When they reached the door to his room, the guard posted there unlocked the door and pushed it open for Thranduil to enter. He turned to Ori and gave him a gentle smile.

"Thank you for walking me Master dwarf. Tell me, are you yourself considering writing an adventure, perhaps of the journeys that lead you here. I'm sure that is a fascinating tale." His smile widened at Ori's blush.

"No, Bilbo is writing about our adventure," he said, "but you're right it was quite a journey," he agreed and left with a parting wave. Thranduil watched him go until he vanished around the corner before entering his room. He pretended the heavy thud of the door, followed by a click of the lock didn't bother him.

He sat the books on the bedside table and began to remove his heavy outer robes. Carefully he climbed into bed in only his underclothes, and proceeded to pick up the first book from the top of the pile. It was the adventure that Ori told him about. Sighing he flipped open the cover and began to read.


	4. Chapter 4

"You should eat more meat," Thorin said over dinner, two weeks into Thranduil's stay.

"I am an elf, my lord, such delicacies are not part of my permitted diet," he drawled, a note of sarcasm breaking through his structured cordiality. It wasn't his fault that his temper has suffered marginally over the past fortnight. During the day he was strictly confined to his quarters, only allowed out to have breakfast and dinner with the dwarfs. His only conversation companions were Vart and Ori, when he had the time off from the busy schedule of a royal scribe. They would come under the gauze of bringing him laundry or books, and stay for an hour or so simply chatting about the current news.

Thranduil learned that for months now, Ori had been in the process of writing a historical recollection of the Battle of Moria from the memories of Balin and Dwalin. The book was almost complete, and should be bound and edited by the coming fall. The scribe promised Thranduil, first lending rights, when the book was finally ready for the library.

He learned from Vart that the king was busy planning his oncoming wedding to the hobbit, and supervising the reconstruction of all damaged ground. There was talk of Dain's arrival to be scheduled with the date of the ceremony so the other Dwarf King could be present at his nephew's wedding. Thranduil met Dain centuries ago at Thror's coronation. He was a formidable dwarf, with a short temper and inborn prejudice against elves. He wasn't looking forward to seeing him again.

"You are an elf who is carrying my dwarrow children and you will eat meat!" roared the King and Thranduil spared a moment to consider how similar he was to Dain.

"I have not had a craving yet," he said calmly, even though he felt anything but, "and I fear if forced to consume it, it will make me sick."

"It will not," dismissed Thorin and waved over the nearest servant. The young dwarrow hurried over to her lord, and was quickly relayed instructions to bring forth the suckling pig from the kitchens. Thranduil felt this didn't bode well and true to form at the first whiff of roasted meat his stomach began to churn. During dinner Thranduil was always careful to sit himself as far away from the meat as possible, since the smell of it tended to bring forth the sickness. Fili, who was sitting beside him tonight, shot him a sympathetic look.

"I don't think he'll fare well if you force him to consume meat, uncle. He looks sick as it is, from the smells coming from the kitchen," said the young prince, but Thorin just glared him down until the blonde youth dropped his gaze to the table.

"I say since he is in my kingdom, living under my roof, he will eat whatever I so damn choose," growled the dwarf. At that moment the doors to the dinning hall swung open and two dwarfs entered, carrying between them a silver tray with a golden suckling pig stretched out in the middle, a red apple stuck in its mouth. Thranduil swallowed.

"Put it there," ordered Thorin, "in front of our guest."

The dish was placed at the top of the table and the two dwarf servants handed Thorin the knife. The king began cutting the pig as per tradition of being head of the table and asked Fili to pass him Thranduil's plate. The dwarf prince did so after sending another apologetic look at the elf. A huge chunk of pork was placed on the silver dish, taking up most of the space; and passed back to be placed in front of the elf.

By now Thranduil had began to pale, swallowing constantly in order to keep the rising bile at bay. Thorin placed cuts of pork for the rest of the dwarves who passed him their plates, and finally sat down at his own laden plate. He shot the petrified elf a smirk and waved a hand at him.

"Eat, elf," he ordered.

"I can't," he said and covered his nose and mouth with one hand.

"Eat," growled the dwarf, leaning in with a threatening growl. The dwarves around him shifted uneasily.

"I cannot dwarf king," hissed the elf from between his fingers, "I am not well!"

"Yes, because you eat nothing but cattle fodder;" Thorin reclined in his chair, leveling the elf with a hard look.

"I said eat it! Now!" he ordered. Thranduil remained absolutely still. Thorin glowered.

"If you don't eat, I will force it down your throat," he growled. He switched his glare to Fili and waved his hand at the elf's plate. "Fili, stuff some pork in our guest's mouth. If he chooses to act like a child then we will treat him like one."

"Uncle…" began Fili and traded a nervous glance with his brother.

"Do it!" barked the King.

Looking edgy, the young dwarf reached hesitantly for the elf's plate. Thranduil's head hug low enough for his chin and chest to meet, one hand sealing his mouth shut. Slowly Fili forked a small chunk of pork from the plate and with a shaking hand began to guide it towards the elf's mouth. Thranduil flinched when the stench of meat assaulted his nose. Fili swore at himself. Why was he always so eager to obey his uncle's cruelty? This was vial, to assault any creature thusly, least off all the mother of dwarrow babes. He dropped the fork and quickly rounded on Thorin, glaring at the king with unwavering severity.

"I will not," he growled. For a moment Thorin looked slightly taken aback, then viciously offended.

"What did you say?" he roared, and would have rose from his seat, had Bilbo not been using all of his weight to hold him down.

"You heard me," challenged the Durin heir, "I will not force the mother of  _your_  children, to consume food that will likely sicken him and endanger the babes."

"You will do what I say," roared the king, and banged his fist on the table; the challis of wine resting nearby becoming an unfortunate casualty. Fili scowled and rose from his seat, forcing the heavy wooden chain back with a screech.

"No, in fact I believe the smell of the meat has ruined our guest's appetite, and I shall escort him to the winter garden where he may eat in peace." With that said, Fili pulled back Thranduil's chair and extended his hand to help him up. Once the elf was standing on his feet he quickly reached across the table and grabbed a large bowl of greens that the kitchen staff served specifically for the elf. Then holding the bowl under one arm, he used the other to guide the Elvenking from the room, one hand resting firmly on the small of Thranduil's back.

"You come back here, Fili son of Vili, or so help me I will have you thrown in the dungeons for treason," roared the King; something about the sight of Fili's hand on the small of Thranduil's back unsettled him greatly. "Do you hear me, I will…"

But they didn't hear anymore when the heavy wooden doors shut behind them. Thranduil still had his hand pressed against his mouth, but when he realized the scent of meat was no longer an assault on his senses, let it fall.

"Thank you," he said quietly to the dwarf prince, exhaustion having drained away all of his energy.

"It's fine," shrugged the youth. "He can be a royal prick when the mood strike him, ey?"

The elf laughed and Fili felt triumphant at having triggered such a rare display of emotion in the elf. Turning he returned his hand to the small of the elf's back, enjoying the heat that radiated from that small dip of space. It wasn't intended as anything sexual, of course; even the thought of it made the dwarf prince blush. Rather due to their substantial height difference, it was the only space he could reach on the elf without stretching his arm. Thranduil didn't complain, and allowed the young dwarf to guide him to the winter gardens.

* * *

"So, you and my uncle, how did it start?" asked Fili. The elf had finished his evening meal and was now, quietly dozing on his back in the middle of the artificially sustained meadow.

"Honestly," he said after a long moment, "I really don't remember." He lifted a hand and began to stroke his extended middle in long, lazy strokes. "I suppose it was different for both of us. I first knew I could love your Uncle when he took me to see the place from where the dwarf's extracted the Arkenstone. He said to me then," laughed the elf with a hint of sadness, " _'this is where we found the Arkenstone, the greatest treasure under the mountain. In my eyes it was the epitome of beauty, the very light of my eye'_. He turned to me and wrapping one arm around my waist he whispered, ' _until you came along, and became the very beat of my heart_ '."

"Wow," Fili frowned, "I never knew Uncle could be charming, let alone so openly romantic."

Thranduil smiled and began pulling daisies from the grass.

"Does he not shower such affection upon the Halfling? he asked.

"Bilbo? Nah," shrugged the prince. "We dwarfs are so fortuned by the good grace of Aulë, to love but only once in our lives. I used to believe Uncle's love had fallen and the hobbit was just a replacement." Fili sighed and began tearing blades of grass and heaping them in a pile. "He would be a good consort to the king. Always there to fill the void in Thorin's heart."

He looked up from his pile of grass and found the elf sitting up and plaiting a crown of daisies.

"Then I found out about you and uncle from a night guard who took you to your room your first night. I knew then," he muttered sadly, eyes fixed on the elf's fragile hands, "that his love never passed, for a dwarf will love his  _one_  with single minded fury until the day he dies. It is an affliction upon our race from which their is no escape."

Thranduil paused in his work to look at the dwarf.

"You speak with wisdom well beyond your years my prince."

Fili blushed and looked down at his pile of grass, gingerly he plucked some from the top and let it rain from above.

"What are you making?" he asked in order to break through the awkward silence.

"A crown," said the elf plainly, finishing his work by tying the two ends together with a long flower stem.

"From flowers?"

"Yes," Thranduil placed the crown on his head and smiled at the prince. The dwarf was trying to suppress a smile by biting his bottom lip, he probably thought it offensive to laugh at the Elvenking.

"It's ok you can laugh, it's not my best work."

"Do you do this often?" asked Fili after sharing a series of warm chuckles.

"Make crowns out of flora?" the dwarf nodded. "Yes, every season. In Spring I make a wreath from lilies of the valley, since they are fist to emerge from the winter snow. In summer I weave together a dozen flowers to make a colourful exposé of the beauty I have been entrusted with. In autumn I weave together berries and red leaves in honor of the harvest, and in winter I wear a simple crown of bare elm branchlets."

Fili absorbed all this with open fascination and after a long moment of silence made a bashful remark.

"It suits you, the flowers," he clarified. Thranduil smiled. Fili looked away in order to hide his embarrassment. He hated being so affect by the elf. He noted how the giant skylight made from plates of clear zirconia, spilled forth orange light; the first sign of approaching dawn.

"We should go," he finally said and made to rise. The elf nodded and carefully lifted himself from the ground. Fili offered his arm and Thranduil graciously accepted, leaning against him as they made their way back to his quarters.

* * *

It was near the entrance to his room that they first heard the sound of raised voices. Fili stopped and subconsciously urged the elf to stay one step behind him.

"It is not stupid!" yelled the all to familiar voice of the burglar.

"I beg to differ, marrying out of contrition and not love is the stupidest thing I have ever heard." Bofur screamed in return, and Thranduil was once again struck by the memory of the snapping spoon.

"I love Thorin," Thranduil winced, and Fili shot him a sympathetic look.

"Like a brother maybe, but are ye in love with him?"

"That's  _none_  of your business," hissed the Halfling and there was a moment of silence when Thranduil assumed the dwarf was recuperating from the sting of the words.

"Your happiness is my business," spoke the dwarf at length, voice barely above a whisper.

"How so?" challenged the other.

"Because I care about you, you stupid hobbit," yelled the dwarf.

"Don't lie to me Bofur. If you did, you would have done something about it, before we reclaimed Erebor" hissed Bilbo and Thranduil didn't have to see him to know he was expressing his lack of conviction in some physical display.

"I…I… _Ah_  damn it!" They heard the sound of quickly retrieving footsteps, then a heavy sigh and the softer sound of the hobbits retreat in the same direction as the dwarf. Neither said anything for a few long moments, then Fili placed a hand on the elves' back and gave him a gentle push forward.

"What was that all about," he muttered and Thranduil rolled his eyes, thankfully without the dwarf prince noticing.

"It is none of our concern," he said plainly and allowed the prince to open his door and guide him through. Turning, he looked the young dwarf over with kindly eyes.

"If you have time Prince Fili, would you perhaps like to stay with me a while longer and keep me company."

The dwarf looked hesitant for all of a second before nodding enthusiastically.

"Yes, I would love to! I have no plans today for it is our day of rest, and my brother is spending the day with mother, helping her sort the pantry as punishment for practicing archery on her garden fence." Thranduil's secretive smile grew into a full blow grin and he once again waved the dwarf forward.

"Then come in, and you can tell me all about your family. If every story is this amusing, I would love to hear more."

The dwarf looked delighted at the prospect of entertaining this enthralling creature and eagerly stepped inside, shutting the heavy wooden door behind him.

Unbeknownst to them, a pair of sharp, narrow eyes was watching them from around the corner. Thorin seethed in fury at the far too friendly exchange between his nephew and the elf.

_His elf._


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next few months Fili and Thranduil became inseparable. They sat together every morning for breakfast and every night for dinner. Even on the days when Thranduil's sickness rode him bedridden, Fili would go to the elf's chambers to take his meals with the king. During the day the prince was kept busy by a highly demanding schedule constructed by his uncle, which none of the dwarfs failed to notice increased in duties around the time the strange friendship went public.

Some wondered if this newly found bond didn't have a negative effect on the younger prince, who they thought might feel left out by his older brother; but Kili showed no such mind-set, keeping busy with his archery and his work in the mines. In fact when asked by the worried Ori, how he felt about the whole thing, he simply said that he couldn't be happier for his brother though he didn't himself see what the other found so enthralling about the elf.

Apart from the meals, any small scrape of time that Fili could find in his week, he would spend with the elf. Balin once joked that were it proper the prince would likely spend his nights with the king as well. Thorin shattered a crystal goblet in his fist, and promptly ordered him to never joke about such matters again.

"Fili is my heir," he spat, "he can do better than some chintzy, elven harlot."

So it was, for weeks to come; anytime one of the party let slip some rowdy remark about the suspiciously burgeoning friendship, Thorin would blow a fuse and follow up with a spiteful comment; though notably never in front of the guest or his nephew.

Time flew and Thranduil continued to grow, his pale cheeks now always colored with a touch of rouge. He had Vart take his robes to the tailors and had them expanded in width to accommodate his budding middle. The vacant coolness in his eyes, that was so customary of his race, mellowed into a gentleness only found in the eyes of mother.

The more he grew the less Fili wanted to leave his side and the more Balin noted, he would sneak out early from delegations and political discussions. Though as of a few weeks ago, Kili too had begun to make these early escapes; and as the old dwarf later discovered, this was due to his own growing attachment for the elf.

Some weeks previously, Thranduil snuck into the meadows under the gauze of feeling unwell and needing to see the medic. There he found Kili setting up for practice and proceeded to watch easily sinking arrows into the target wheel. Perhaps the elf had seen some trace of his son in the antics of the young dwarf, or maybe he simply missed the sport that was so favored by his own kind; but as Balin learned, Thranduil approached Kili after awhile and asked if he could take a turn with the bow.

From what he had heard, for it was told to him in great confidence by the dwarrow maid who was milking a cow not far from the royals; the prince was so impressed by the Elf King's skill with the bow, he pleaded to be taught such great precision, until the Elven King graciously agreed.

Over the next few weeks the two would visit the field each day, and practice for hours. The king, the maid told him, would take great patience in guiding Kili's hand and adjusting his posture until every arrow that left his bow would hit bulls-eye from half a mile away.

So the elf won the confidence of not one but both of the dwarrow princes and now had them assisting him at his leisure with a vast variety of day-to-day tasks. Balin heard that the youngest would come by the king's chambers and run his bath for him, going so far as to fetch the hot water and even help the elf into the tub. This task, that the elf king undoubtedly felt shameful of, required a great deal of trust. For Balin knew elves not unlike dwarves hated to display weakness, and being unable to lay a heavily weighed body into the tub was just one such task.

Of course when it came to it, the husband of the confined lass should be assigned this responsibility, but Thorin was not to be swayed. His pride stood in the way of offering even the smallest amount of kindness, and he had his heart set on forgetting the Elvenking. Fighting his very nature to be released from these cursed feelings. Though Balin suspected deep in the recess of his mind, the King wanted to be asked, to be pleaded with for assistance, so he could graciously concede. However Thranduil, as Balin knew, had not unlike Thorin begun to give up on the nature of his feelings and accepting that his love was lost to him forever.

Sighing the old dwarf took a lengthy swallow from his mug of ale and waved to the bar-keep. He could only imagine how Thorin would break when he finds out that while he's been centering all his willpower to look the other way; someone, more jeeringly his very own young, handsome nephew, was more than happy to take his place.

* * *

"I think that's enough for tonight," sighed the elf, using one hand to rub at his sore shoulder. He gestured to the dwarfs and they began packing their scrolls, ink and feathers into their satchels. As they busied themselves with the clean up, he watched them with some amusement. Such merry company spread out across the rug and the foot of his king size bed.

Just over a week ago Ori had approached him sheepishly with a plea to assist him in expanding his limited knowledge of Elven text. Thranduil happily agreed to be of service and invited him kindly to stop by the following day, and to bring with him all the necessary supplies and anyone else interested. So he came with Nori's twin sons, and after apologizing profusely and explaining over and over again that his brother had simply thrust them upon him without notice on his way to Dale; the three dwarfs sat around him and he gave his first lesson on Elven script.

A few days later Vart stopped by with the fresh load of laundry, and finding the other dwarfs tracing the runes with great care, stayed longer than necessary folding the linens while taking what he thought were inconspicuous looks at the dwarf's scrolls. Thranduil simply smiled and silently offered the young dwarf a clean scroll and some writing utensils. Shortly after Fili and Kili joined the class, eager to spend more time with their favorite elf; and since that day they could be found every second day, gathering in the guest room for another lesson in Elven penmanship.

Thranduil scanned the room. To the right of his bed sat Vart, who he noticed having packed all his own belongings, began helping Ryn and his twin brother Ray pack away their things. The twin dwarflings were clustered together, taking immeasurable care rolling up their scrolls, like the practice scribbles of Elvish runes were beyond priceless in value. Than behind them sat Ori, who was the only dwarf sitting at a desk. He was much more practiced, being a trained scribe, and caught on to the intricate design of elvish text with admirable swiftness. Fili and Kili were sitting at the foot of his bed, leaning on the bedposts on either side of the four-corner frame. They were sitting cross-legged and using books as hard surfaces for their writing. As he watched them all in turn, Thranduil couldn't stop a wave of admiration from prickling at the corners of his eyes.  _Damn these hormones_  he thinks, discreetly wiping away a tear.

Something must have given away his change in emotion, for a moment later Fili looked up from where he was stashing his stationary and gave the elf a concerned look.

"Are your shoulders hurting?" he asked, looking at the hand that was still sub-consciously rubbing circles.

"A little," admitted the elf, "ever since the boys settled a little lower I've been struggling to walk straight, and the additional pressure on my back has had some unfortunate consequences." He said all this in a light and airy tone, for he was never known to moan or complain. It was quite unbecoming of a king to be a whinger.

"I can ask Oin to make you an ointment," said Ori; having finished packing, he approached the elf with a worried frown.

"That won't be necessary," said Thranduil, "though I thank you for the offer. I will see you at dinner."

Ori bowed in agreement and left for the library. Ryn and Ray looked at each other before following in the scribe's example with identically mirrored bows, then trotting out after him; Ryn taking a moment to give the elf a shy wave at the door.

"I should be off to brother," said Kili. "Thorin wants me to help assemble the tables for the rehearsal dinner next week." He threw the satchel over his shoulder and came around the bed to give the elf a companionable hug. A strange tradition that originated one day when Kili managed a perfect long-distance shot, all on his own. In a moment of mindless joy, he leaped at the elf and embarrassed him in a hearty hug, thanking him over and over again for hours of tenacious training. That same night, when he walked the elf back to his room, he once more surprised him with a parting hug, and so it began. Now the young prince never left the other without first embracing him like family. "I'll see you at dinner  _mellon-nin_."

"Ah," Thranduil laughed, "so you did learn something after all."

After Kili left it was just Fili and himself left, and the prince was still looking at him with concern.

"I have time, since delegations for the rest of the week have been cancelled due to the preparations being made for the rehearsal dinner, and Dain's arrival next week."

"That's wonderful," intoned the elf, "your uncle and Master Baggins must be very excited."

"I can give you a back rub if you want," said the dwarf, going deaf to everything else, since he hardly felt well equipped enough to discuss Thorin's over-exuberance for the wedding and his rambunctious flirtation towards the mortified hobbit. It was tooth-achingly fake and forced-to-boot, but none in the company could master-up enough courage to let him know.

"I can manage," started Thranduil, but at the look of determination in the prince's eyes, conceded with a heavy sigh. "There's some oil in the top draw of that cabinet," he pointed ahead. Fili quickly hopped from the bed and walked over to grab the small jar of flora-scented oil. When he turned around the Elvenking was standing by the bed, naked from the waist up.

Fili had to steady his breath at the sigh of all that pale skin and alabaster curves. The heavily rounded belly, protruding beautifully from the middle of an otherwise slim, graceful frame. The soft curve of plump breasts where the pecks had extended to accommodate for the milk the babes would require upon entry into the world. Overall the elf looked magnificent and Fili never fathomed he could be more enamored by him.

Realizing he was staring, and rather rudely at that, the young dwarf quickly crossed the room to stand by the bed.

"I think you should sit off the side, with your legs hanging down; and I will message you from the back," he said, surprisingly free of stutter.

"That's fine," agreed the elf and proceed to do as told; the dwarf prince eagerly climbing atop the bed and kneeled behind him. He uncapped the oil with shaky hands and rubbed the cold substance quickly between his palms to warm it to a decent temperature. When he felt it was adequate, he granted himself a moment to gather his wits, before bravely laying his hands on the pale shoulders.

The skin felt warm and silken beneath his calloused fingers, and suddenly he felt unworthy of touching such finery with his ugly hands.

"Feels nice," sighed the elf, breaking his hesitance. Grateful to be reassured Fili began to knead the knotted muscle with painstaking care, concentrating on the movement and pressure of his hands like he might when crafting a particularly fine piece of precious metal into a delicate object of unmatched beauty. Taking great care not to rush or exceed his strength for fear of causing irrefutable damage to such a priceless entity. He worked silently, his brow creased and glistening with sweat; Thranduil's gentle sighs, the only evidence of his triumph.

* * *

Thorin was on his way to court when he heard a suspicious noise on the other side of Thranduil's door. He would never admit to it, but since the elf's arrival, Thorin had taken the extra fifteen-minute detour every day on the way to the central hall from his private chambers, just so he could pass by the elf's quarters. If for no other reason, he told himself, than to simply check that a station guard was always present outside the door. He might not be able to keep the elf confined to his rooms anymore, since Fili's public demand that the elf be given the right to visit the medic and do light forms of exercise, but he'll be damned if he did not order his guards to send report to him of the elf's every dalliance.

Now he was caught in his step by the sound of suspicious moaning. He shot the guard a withering glare but the burly dwarf simply shrugged and looked to the side.

"Who is in there?" he barked and was satisfied to notice the guardsman flinch.

"Your nephew Fili, your highness," he replied.

At the confirmation to his suspicions Thorin saw red, and in a bout of blind rage threw the doors open with enough force to send them ricocheting of the walls with a loud clang. He stormed in and growled like a feral wolf at the maddening sight before him. There sat Thranduil, innocent as a lamb, with his torso naked, while his nephew was kneeling behind him, admittedly fully clothed, with his hands on the elf's shoulders.

"Get. Out." He annunciated each word with dangerous bluntness.

"U..uncle, it's not what you th…"

A beastly growl cut him off, and Fili wisely retreated from the bed but still looked hesitant to leave his Elven friend with his uncle in such a temper.

"I…"

"It's ok Fili, you can go," Thranduil turned away from where he was glaring down his uncle, to shoot him a reassuring smile. Not needing to be told twice, the blonde quickly made a hasty retreat, being careful to side step around his uncle to get to the door. Then he was gone.

"What gives you the right to touch my nephew?" growled the dwarf, the moment the doors were shut.

Thranduil made an uncharacteristic snort, crossing his arms under his budding breasts. This caused the swollen flesh to be pushed up, and the sight of the tender mounds put so temptingly on display, was enough to parch Thorin's mouth in seconds.

"If you were paying close attention, as I am willing to bet you were, he was touching me."

"That doesn't matter," the dwarf barked through a cough, "you…"

"Further more," interrupted the elf, "what gives you the right to question the nature of our friendship."

"He is my nephew!" roared the dwarf.

"Yes and he is also an adult, as I'm sure you noticed, and free to make his own choices."

"He doesn't know what's good for him, you…"

"I did nothing," hissed the elf, "but even if I had, it would not have been initiated by me; and it still wouldn't be any of your business."

"You used your Elven wiles to poison his mind," roared the dwarf.

"Do you hear yourself," laughed Thranduil, "Elven wiles? What nonsense you speak. I did nothing to that boy, but become his friend."

"And friends touch each other naked do they?"

"We were hardly naked Thorin," drawled Thranduil like he might with a slow child. "If you only bothered to take any notice at all of your nephew instead of glaring me down, you would have seen he was completely dressed and I," he stood and gestured at himself, "am simply shirtless. Not a crime amongst our sex, is it?"

Thorin's glare lowered to study the naked form hungrily. Now that the elf was up he could properly see for the first time the marvelous changes his body had undertaken. His pecks, once flat and round - now full of milk, hung in two little arches, with sharp pointy nips. But most enticingly showed his belly, so full and round with his children. It stood proudly away from the rest of the body, webbed pink at the front where the pale skin had begun to stretch a somewhat finely.

"Get out Thorin," hissed the elf, knocking him out of his reverie.

"I will not, this is my kingdom and by default this is my room; and I will stay here for as long as I like," he growled.

"Fine," spat the elf and stood up to pull back the blanket from the head of his bed, until there was room enough for him to climb underneath it. He made sure that all his body was concealed, before turning to lie on his side, facing away from the dwarf.

Thorin sighed at the loss of all that perfection. He finally decided to leave when a strange and dangerous desire to climb into bed with the elf,  _his elf,_  began warping his mind.

"Stay away from my nephew elf, or I might not be so gracious after the birth of my children, to keep the rest of my word."

He heard no reply, and with another slam of the door, left the room.

* * *

Regardless of how upset Thranduil felt that night, he still made a show at dinner. After all, he reasoned, he promised Kili he would be there and he will be. Thorin's boorish treatment of him can be sat aside for the duration of a meal, if it meant his new friends were happy. For try as he might at maintaining his cool composure, it was becoming exceedingly harder everyday to remember who he was, and not think of the princes and the other little dwarrows as his own family.

"It's finished!" announced the young scribe halfway through the main course. Everyone's attention turned to Ori.

"What's finished lad?" asked Balin.

"The book; my book, about the Battle of Moria. I finished it three months ahead of time," he said excitedly.

"Oh that's wonderful," Thranduil couldn't help but exclaim, stretching across the table to give the youth a congratulatory pat on the arm. Ori's face broke out in a blinding smile. As if following in his footsteps each dwarf within reach gave the youth a friendly pat on the back, some even made an effort to get up and walk around the table, while others simply cheered with all their might from across the room, lifting pitchers of ale in his honor. Once it all settled down, the scribe shot the elf a shy, uncertain look.

"I promised once it was finished I would give you the first copy," he said.

Thranduil nodded and smiled reassuringly at the dwarf.

"I'm sure it is a wonderful story, and I cannot wait to start reading it."

The dwarf nodded but still looked uncertain.

"Was their something else," the elf prompted.

Ori looked hesitant for a moment. And Thranduil noted how Fili and Kili were similarly hesitant while picking through the food on their plates.

"Well a few of the lads were wondering if it wouldn't be too much trouble," finally supplied Dori, taking pity on his shy little brother. "If you were to read it to us all, or" Dori amended, "anyone who's interested, later tonight after the dinner's finished?"

"You would like me to read to you?" Thranduil attempted to clarify, his face clouding with confusion.

"Well yes, you see," said the dwarf, "Ori here's been telling me that you have a beautiful way of reading, when you read from your Elvish books. So we was just wondering if it wouldn't be to much of an inconvenience for you to read to us." Dori hesitated a moment before continuing. "See a few of the lads, as fine as they are at craftsmanship, are quite illiterate and well, I'm sure they all want to hear the story that took Ori nearly a decade to write," all the dwarfs nodded quietly at this, "so…"

"I would be more than happy to read to you," Thranduil said with a gentle smile. "How about we all gather in my room a quarter of an hour after we finish dinner?"

"Agreed!" exclaimed Kili and the other dwarfs nodded and grunted their assent, looking somewhat embarrassed.

The rest of the dinner was filled with easy chatter and discussions on preparations being made for Dain's arrival. Thranduil took extra care to avoid making eye contact with Thorin throughout the meal, though at some point, he could have sworn he heard the dwarf King complaining to his advisor, that as King he should have been given the honor of reading from Ori's book. Balin's rich laughter was complimented only by his own smirk.

* * *

"The scouts were to be sent out at the first break of light. They were instructed to circle the base of the mountain and report back within an hour to the royal tent, where King Thror, with his son Thrain and grandson…" Thranduil cut himself off at the first squeal of the iron hinges.

The door to his room was pushed open and Bilbo tentatively snuck in on soft feet. Every dwarf turned to look at him from where they sat on the floor, and the hobbit stood awkwardly with his hand on the handle, unsure of what to do next. He shot his eyes up to look at Thranduil. If the elf wanted him gone, there would be no helping him.

The elf's eyes melted from surprise into acceptance, he waved him in and smiled when Bilbo hurried to shut the door and take a seat by the bed. Thranduil noted with some amusement how the only open space on the carpeted floor was besides Bofur, though the hobbit still shot a look at the tiled space near the bathroom, before plonking down with a sigh of resignation beside the dwarf.

"...Thorin. The foreboding howl of the wind unsettled the night watchmen, and promised with it a heavy rain." he continued reading. And so they sat and listened while Thranduil read; and every following night they would all gather together to hear the next chapter and the chapter after until the story came to a close. And if Thranduil noticed how every night the toy maker and the hobbit drew closer together until there was scarcely an inch between them, well it was hardly any of his business.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains NON-CON. (It's pretty sh*t writing because I can't write rape scenes)

It was a month later, on the eve of the dreaded rehearsal dinner that Bilbo finally mastered enough courage to approach the elf. It was the night reading of the closing chapter of Ori's book, and all the dwarfs tried to hide their disappointment that their nights of being enchanted by Thranduil's melodic voice, have come to a close. The elf laughed and reassured them that should they come to an agreement on another novel he will be happy to continue the nightly ritual. So all in all the dwarfs left in rather high spirits.

"Can I help you master Baggins?" asked the elf, when he noticed the little Halfling leaning against the wall after everyone else had already gone.

"Um…I don't know…I mean, I hope so," stuttered the hobbit

Thranduil turned to give him a questioning look from where he was putting away Ori's novel atop the small bookshelf beside the bed.

"Please come in and have a seat," he said after a moment, when it became clear the hobbit would not continue unless prompted. Bilbo gingerly took a seat behind the two-person coffee table. Thranduil approached the fire place and set a small coffee pot on the grill, after a few minutes it began to give off a gentle whistle and he removed it with a pair of iron pliers and set it on a heat-proof mat in the middle of the table, then turning to retrieve two small cups from his bedside draw, and a satchel of tea herbs. Placing a pinch of leaves into the pot, Thranduil set about arranging the cups and saucers before he used a small towel to lift the hot copper pot and spread the brew equally between two cups.

"I must apologize, I am not equipped here to keep any finishing's but sugar," he produced a small silver challis with a protruding spoon.

"That's ok," the hobbit replied promptly, "black is how I like it actually."

The elf smiled and stirred through a teaspoon of sugar.

"What did you wish to discuss with me Master Baggins?"

"Bilbo," the hobbit rushed to correct, "Bilbo is fine." He blushed in embarrassment and Thranduil attempted to stifle a laugh.

"Ok, Bilbo," he said amicably, "the question stands. What is troubling you?"

The hobbit took a sip of coffee; lifting the small silver cup with trembling hands. Thranduil thought he was in danger of scorching himself and reached over to still the neurotic shaking.

"I… I need to speak with you about Thorin," he said once the elf had guided his hands to the table.

"Yes, what about him."

"You love him, right?" asked Bilbo, taking a spoon and dousing his unease with anxious stirring.

"I loved him, though I'm fairly certain that the nature of my feelings for him have begun to dissimilate since my arrival here."

"You know he doesn't mean how he treats you, he's just…" but Bilbo stopped himself under the weight of the Elvenking's gaze.

"Did you stay only to reassure me of your betrothed love for me?" asked the elf, unable to suppress the coolness of his tone; in his heart he knew Bilbo was a kind creature, and not one to intentionally cause pain to others.

"Oh no, no, no, no," rushed the hobbit. "It's none of my business," he exclaimed. "Our marriage is more of a business arrangement anyhow…" he trailed off, sending a downtrodden look at the content of his cup.

"What do you mean?" Thranduil had high suspicions of what the hobbit was referring to, but needed the other to clear away all doubt.

"Well, I mean it's clear he still loves you, what with dwarf's loving only once and," Bilbo stopped mid-rant and looked to the side. "I've been feeling things for another dwarf, things no respectable hobbit should ever feel so close to his wedding day..."

Thranduil reached across the table and gave the hobbit a reassuring squeeze of the hand.

"Is this about Bofur?" he prodded gently.

"So you did know," gasped Bilbo, and flushed crimson.

"Yes," confessed the elf. "I overheard you speaking with him outside my room a few months ago. But even if I had not come upon you it would be hard to miss, when the two of you cuddle so lovingly on the floor of my chambers every night I read."

Bilbo gasped. "Do you think anybody else noticed?" he asked, going pale.

"No I doubt it," reassured the elf, "after all you sat at the very back of the room, behind all the other dwarfs.

Some color returned to Bilbo, he sighed and took a meditative sip of his tea.

"My question than, Bilbo Baggins," sad the elf, "is why you would choose to marry out of loyalty rather than love. Especially," he continued, "since it has become quite obvious over the duration of my stay, that you are without a doubt Master Bofur's one and only love."

"That's…do you think…" the hobbit stammered uncertainly.

"Indeed I do," said the elf, "for your charming toy maker has the same look about him when he's around you, that your betrothed once had around me," he said sadly but not unkindly.

Bilbo blushed and a happy smile broke out on his demure face.

"I…love him," he whispered shyly, but Thranduil's Elven hearing easily picked up the words.

"I know," he said with a smile and refilled the Halfling's cup.

"I need to tell him, and to tell Thorin!" he exclaimed in excitement, but suddenly mellowed down, "but no I can't," he began visibly deflating, "I can't not marry Thorin. He will see it as nothing more than a heartless act of betrayal and I," Bilbo dropped his voice, and a tear ran down his pale cheek, "can't betray him again."

"Again?" asked the elf.

"After the Arkenstone."

"That was hardly a betrayal, when you in fact saved us all," reassured the elf, but Bilbo would hear none of it.

"You weren't there," he yelled; "you weren't there when he screamed at me and called me a traitor, declaring me nothing more than a backstabbing rat."

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," said the elf, "after all he was struck by dragon-sickness, and therefore nothing he said that day can be taken seriously."

"You think so," asked the hobbit, his voice meek as if in contrition at his outbreak a moment earlier.

"Indeed. I believe if you talk to him now, before the rehearsal diner tomorrow night. It will take the pressure off both of you and more importantly allow you the freedom to pursue your own chosen suitor."

"I'm scared," Bilbo whispered.

"Don't be," reassured the elf. "After all Thorin is a dwarf and therefore he would know better than anyone how strong the love affliction is among his people."

"What if he hurts Bofur, locks him up in the dungeons or even banishes him? I could never forgive myself…"

"He won't" Thranduil promissed, "and even if he threatens to do so in a midst of a temper tantrum, kindly remind him that none of the rest of his company would stand for such treatment of one of their own."

"That's true," agreed Bilbo, if somewhat hesitantly. "Ok," he said with a look of determination in his eyes. "I will go now and tell him exactly how I feel." He jumped from the chair and walked around the table to give Thranduil a squeeze on the shoulder.

"Thanks for listing," he said, with one of his trademark heart-melting smiles.

"Of course," said the elf, "I'm always here when you need me, for if it wasn't for you my children and I would never had had a place to stay."

"Oh, it was nothing. Truth be told, Thorin would have doubtlessly offered you a place regardless of whether I was there to prompt him or not. His heart wouldn't have let him send his love and his children out into the cold."

Thranduil made no comment and Bilbo left with a parting smile.

"Good luck" he said, when the Halfling vanished through the gap in the door.

* * *

Thranduil was just stepping out of the shower when the door swung open and hit the wall with a bang. He jumped but managed to tie his bathrobe together, before the maniac dwarf stepped inside.

"Thorin," he yelled scandalized, "what in the name of Valinor are you doing?"

"You," Thorin roared and pointed his index finger at the elf, "you ungrateful wretch!"

"Excuse me?" hissed the elf and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You've been spouting your manipulative garbage to my betrothed."

"What…"

"Silence!" howled the dwarf, and then lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper. "Now you listen here elf. I stood by and let you corrupt my nephews, steal my scribe and manipulate my servants; but I will not," he roared, "stand for this!"

"I am still unclear as to what it is that you think I have done?" said the elf. He took a seat on the side of the bed and began to unfurl his braids with nimble fingers.

"You've made Bilbo question his fidelity to me!" spat the dwarf and Thranduil forced himself not to wince. His patience was running low.

"I've done no such thing," he intoned.

"Oh no, then tell me elf King, why did my consort come to me earlier tonight and pleaded to be released from the responsibility of being my future spouse?"

"Perhaps," smirked the elf, "the answer lies within you."

"What?"

"Did it not occur to you that perhaps Master Baggins has simply grown tired of constantly taming your bestial temper and weathering your sour moods?"

Thorin's rage stupefied him into silence, and Thranduil taking this as his cue to retire began pulling back the soft, duck-feather duvet.

"You," roared the dwarf and charged at the startled elf. Thranduil barely had time to turn himself to the side before Thorin shoved him roughly below the ribs, and toppled him to the bed. His body bounced on the mattress, and Thranduil instinctively wrapped his arms against his jostling stomach. Sickness rose in his throat in a sudden bout of nausea. It spun him and made him dizzy. When he once again felt safe enough to open his eyes without retching, Thranduil leveled a wide-eyed Thorin with a scathing glare.

"How dare you push me in my condition, how dare you!" he screamed, and the dwarf took a step away from the bed at the terrifying display of anger. In all the years he's known the elf, he had never once risen his voice thusly. "Get out!" hissed Thranduil, pulling himself up "now!"

Thorin nodded and spun around on his heels, but before he so much as took a step to the door he froze and ever so slowly turned back to the bed.

"Why?" he hissed, a malicious spark corrupting his eyes. "So you can call on my nephew to come over and make you feel better?"

"Thorin…" Thranduil warned.

"Oh don't Thorin me," said the dwarf, taking a step towards the bed. "I know all about your nightly rendezvous."

"I am warning you," said the elf, not bothering to correct the deranged dwarf.

"Consider yourself warned," he mocked, then promptly grabbed the elf by the shoulders and toppled him to the bed.

"Thorin!"

"Shut up!" barked the dwarf. He grabbed the top of the elf's robe and tore it open. Thranduil gasped and grabbed at the dwarf's clutched fists.

"No my love," hissed the dwarf, "I simply seek to reclaim what is mine; and since you've been so graciously hosted by my land, I've come to seek my due payment."

"Stop!" Thranduil begged when he felt Thorin stick a hand down the back of his robe.

"Oh don't be shy," mocked the dwarf with a wicked grin, grabbing hold of the elf's manhood, "not like it's anything new to you; after all you've been working your way through my friends since the moment you got here."

Thranduil moaned when the callused hand began roughly palming his cock.

"Or is it just my nephews who have caught your interest, ah?"

"No," begged the elf.

"Enough of your lies!"

"You've gone mad," whispered Thranduil, struggling to lift himself off the bed. Thorin leaned forward until their noses pressed together.

"Have I now?" he jeered, "well my fair one, that makes two of us."

And that was the end to all talking.

* * *

**NONCON**

* * *

Thorin used the robe to gag the Elvenking. Thranduil's cries and desperate shakes of the head served only to enrage him. He spat in the elf's face and used the momentary stupefaction to pry his jaw open and stuff the fabric inside. He used the belt to tie the wrists, which were conveniently pressed together and pushing against his chest.

When he pulled back he watched the elf's eyes, overwhelmed with tears as they were, burst in small rivers and run down his cheeks. Thorin lifted himself to his knees and impatiently pulled free the laces on his trews. His erection sprung free from between the leather folds, hard and glistening with pearly emit. Growling he rolled Thranduil onto his side, then further until the elf was force into lifting himself onto all fours to keep his weight from crushing the babes.

The dwarf king heard broken sobs, felt desperate shakes in the elf's frame as he molded himself against him. He put both hands on the heavy swell, and rubbed the flesh possessively in small circles; burying his nose in the sweet scented nape. He broke free from his reverie when Thranduil released a particularly loud groan, the elf's shoulders straining and jerking in spasms.

Pulling away Thorin only had enough patience left in him, to spit on his palm and rub himself slick. It wasn't nearly enough, but the elf's pleasure was never a priority. With one thrust he lodged himself deep in the blonde's rear, growling his pleasure and gripping the pale, padded hips with enough force to bruise. He began thrusting immediately, never giving the other time to adjust; and finished quickly to the synchronized symphony of tempered growls, and Thranduil's sobs of despair.

* * *

**FIN**

* * *

When he was done he lifted himself from the elf, pulled free his spent manhood and retied his trews in complete silence. Once dressed, he got off the bed and grabbed the elf by the shoulders. Thranduil flinched away, releasing a muffled wail. Thorin with clinical detachment rolled him onto his side, pulled free a knife from his belt and cut the binds. Then still with complete dispassion, he turned and made for the door. Thranduil's sobbing increased in volume, and he new the elf must have freed him mouth. Not leaving him time to shame him, Thorin opened the door and spoke nonchalantly over his shoulder.

"The wedding will go as planned, and you  _will_  attend it."

He never once looked back on what he had done.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

Thranduil was absent from breakfast and every dwarf at the table was acutely aware of it. They exchanged weary looks over mugs of coffee and tea, sending shifty glances at the single empty seat.

"Where is Thranduil?" Ori finally braved the question.

"He must not be feeling well," said Fili reaching for the empty plate beside him. "I will bring him some food."

"No need," barked Thorin and all the dwarfs turned towards him. "I already sent a servant to bring him food."

The company exchanged weary looks. It was peculiar for the king to involve himself in Thranduil's care. Made even more suspicious by the demure delivery of his words. As if speaking them, in itself, was a heavy burden.

"In fact," continued Thorin, when it looked like Kili was about to say something. "I would prefer it, if the elf was to be left alone today. I have already arranged a seamstress to come by and measure him for the wedding attire and he needs his rest before the rehearsal dinner tonight."

"But uncle…"

"But nothing!" Thorin glared at Fili until the other turned his eyes away. "I am king and my word is law. The elf is to be left undisturbed. Do I make myself clear!"

The dwarfs made a litany of consenting grunts. Thorin, satisfied, returned his eye to his plate and said no more. The breakfast around him progressed in tentative silence.

* * *

Mika was an elderly dwarrow of twenty and two hundred years. She was competent in her field and considered herself, by far, the most talented seamstress under the mountain. While in exile she made a name for herself in the villages of men, and word of her talent spread quickly across Middle-Earth. Now, once more in employment to the king, she found her workload drastically reduced. The king desired fairly little; a couple of formal robes, a few festive tunics and a dozen or so work shirts and trews. The young heirs were quite similarly content.

However, with the announcement of a royal wedding, her coffers had doubled and her time halved. Perhaps it was a poor choice to open a public practice while in the king's employment, but she simply couldn't stand the amount of free time her limited craft afforded her. Now, every Tili, Bart and Narvi hounded her for a gown for some one or other of their women. This left her precious little time to spare, and that's why when the King asked her to measure and fit the elf King, she expected nothing less but absolute punctuality.

"Your highness," she knocked on the wooden door, "Your highness, I am the seamstress Mika, here to take your measurements."

"Blasted, woman!" growled the guard, dropping his spear to cover both ears, "must ye holler so?"

"Excuse me," she screeched and turned all her frustration on the guard. "Who do you think you're talking to? I'll have you know you blunt boulder, that I am the seamstress to the King."

The dwarf bent down to pick up his spear.

"And I'll have ye know," he grunted, "ye old…"

The door swung open with an eerie creek and both dwarrows fixed their eyes on the aperture. They exchanged a weary look, all rancor forgotten. Finally the seamstress straightened her skirts with a mighty shake to the layered fabric; ran her hands down the scaled rips of her corset, and bravely marched inside. It took a moment for her vision to adjust in the morbid dark, the air inside was chilly and her eyes instinctively drew to the empty fireplace. Beside it, in one of the two armchairs sat the elf, the top of his head peaking over the rise of the seat.

"You mustn't sit in the cold your highness, you'll catch your death," scolded the dwarrow in a hushed whisper. "I'll just call the page and have him…"

"You've come here to do a job, dwarrow," a cold, detached voice cut her off, "and that is all you will do."

His voice left no room for argument, and even a veteran of debate against the most stubborn of beings could not fathom enough strength to challenge him.

"Yes you majesty," muttered Mika after only a brief pause. "Please disrobe to your undergarment and come stand under the skylight."

The light in question was the only source of brightness in the room. It was an artificial skylight made out of luminous crystals. The chandelier being the other; the supplementary row of candles on the far, left wall remained cold.

Thranduil rose and made his way to the light, dropping his robe as he walked; heedless of his nudity like the shame of his starkness was foreign to him. He turned and faced the seamstress but his eyes remained unfocused and vacant, looking somewhere over her head, into great distances beyond the walls of this chamber.

"Ok," Mika pulled free her tool kit with trembling hands, "I need you to hold your arms out on both sides while I do the measurement. Does your majesty have any preference to color and fabric?"

Thranduil was silent and that's how he remained for the rest of the session. By the time Mika left the king, she had paled and walked like a dwarrow decades above her years.

* * *

Bofur was finishing off the last of the chairs, when Fili came over to him from across the room where he was setting up the tables for the rehearsal dinner.

"Bofur, can I have a word with you?"

"Sure laddie," smiled the toy maker and patted his finished work. Pushing up against the wooden seat to rise himself off the floor, he stretched and followed Fili from the dining hall. They walked for a while before the royal heir stopped and pulled him into an empty storage room, quickly shutting the door behind them.

"What is it lad? Hope it ain't another one of your schemes, cause you can tell Kili, I ain't having no part in your trickery. Not after…"

"It's nothing to do with Kili, or tricks for that matter," said the dwarf. "I wanted to ask you something?"

Picking up on the urgency in the dwarrow's voice, Bofur's smile morphed into a frown.

"I was walking Thranduil back to his room one night, when I came across you and Bilbo arguing in the hallway." Fili looked contrite at having to admit he was eavesdropping, but Bofur looked grief stricken.

"How much did ye hear?" he gasped and pulled his hat from his head. He clutched it against himself with both hands like a protective shield.

"Enough to know how you feel about him," confessed Fili.

A long silence reigned in the small room.

"Listen…" began the youth, but Bofur cut him off.

"Are you going to tell Thorin?"

"No, of course not, but…"

"It is none of your business," growled the toy maker and pulling the hat back on his head, made to shoulder past him.

"Bofur I just want…"

The door slammed shut on his words. Fili rubbed his forehead with a wary sigh. This was beyond him, he needed help, and there was only one creature under the mountain that he trusted enough with this.

* * *

Dain arrived timely. He rode in on a black mount, surrounded on either side by his chief council and foreign affairs ministers. By the time he entered the throne room, the mountain was abuzz with cheering, lively music and excited chatter. A hush fell with the first boom of the trumpet.

"All hail," announced the herald upon Dain's entry into the room, "His Highness Dain Ironfoot the Second, King of the Iron Hills."

The herald lowered his instrument and Dain walked by him down the isle to the foot of the throne, where Thorin was seated; eyes twinkling with merry cheer. Before the old dwarf could so much as reach the steps, Thorin was on his feet and rushing down to greet his favorite uncle.

"Uncle," he exclaimed and embraced the dwarf in a bear hug. "It has been too long!"

"Less than a year you overstating whelp," groused the old king in good humor.

"Aye," agreed his nephew and spun his uncle around with one hand over his shoulders. He began leading him from the hall; "but a lot has happened since you left?"

"Is that so?" Dain stroked his beard curiously, studying his nephew with shrewd eyes.

"Aye, but let us discuss it over dinner. My staff has worked tirelessly to prepare a mighty feast in your honor."

"Then I would hate to disappoint their efforts," nodded the dwarf and allowed Thorin to guide him from the room.

* * *

Thranduil entered the room like a wraith. If not for the boisterous announcement from the herald his presence was bound to have gone unnoticed at least till he claimed his seat. As it was, every face in the room turned to stare his way, and a general lull fell in the conversation. Thranduil, for his part, conducted himself in a manner most proper. He stalked the length of the room in long even strides, back straight and shoulders drawn back to push forward the ornate beading at the front of his robes and over his extended naval. He walked with his head held high. Eyes blank, and face skillfully vacant of all emotion. When his chair was pulled back, he tilted his head in a gracious nod at Prince Fili, but made no further gesture of gratitude. He kept his gaze above Ori, who was seated across from him, and made no effort to meet his eyes.

"King Thranduil," exclaimed Dain who was seated a few chairs up from the elf on the left side of Thorin, on the right sat a fidgety, nervous Bilbo. "How nice of you to join us. My nephew has just finished telling me a most interesting story about the  _confining_  circumstances of your visit."

He paused to give an opening to the elf, but he remained silent.

"I must say it comes as a joy to know that soon the mountain will have two knew additions to the cohort," Dain paused to take a generous swallow of his ale, before fixing the elf with mean little eyes. "However small, and useless they will doubtlessly be, seeing as they are related to an elf."

Thorin, who throughout the discussion kept his eyes firmly fixed ahead of him, turned to regard his uncle with a mix of confusion and anger.

"Still it is a relief to hear of my nephew's virility." Dain turned and clapped Thorin on the shoulder. "It will certainly come in useful when him and Master Baggins decide to try for a royal heir," he said in a booming voice for the benefit of his admirals, and burst into hearty laughter, accompanied by the supporting chortle of his entourage, who sat at a nearby table.

"Do not fret, your highness," jeered the dwarf King, "I'm sure Thorin will find a suitable place in his kingdom for the half-breeds. Since you elves seem to make such excellent brood mares, and fecundate like rodents, maybe," he turned to Thorin, who was clutching the stem of his goblet with an iron grip an glaring into the content, "you can use the bastards for political gain and marry them of to neighboring states. I'm sure my son won't mind taking one off your hands. He's had no luck with his wife in over a decade. Being fertile as they are, they'll help fill up all the empty bunks left after the war, and hopefully overtime, through selective breeding, we'll scourge the elf from the blood…"

"* _Atkat_!" screamed Thorin, standing up and banging his fist on the table. Dain shut up instantly and turned his surprise-ridden gaze on his nephew. They heard the screech of a chair, and Thorin lowered himself back in his seat and watched as Thranduil rose on unsteady feet, using the tabletop for support, and made a dash for the doors, his heavy bulk forcing him to grab hold of his naval in order to keep his balance. Fili and Kili were on their feet moments later and ran to assist the elf, wrapping their hands around him from both sides and letting him rest his hands on their shoulders as they helped carry him from the room. Ori followed there after, batting his brother's hands from his tunic.

"Enough!" Every dwarf turned to face her as Dis rose from her seat with regal grace, and fixed her uncle with the eyes of a warrior. "I will not tolerate this treatment of our guest. He is a royal and shall not be spoken to thusly. You have a known prejudice against elves uncle, and I respect your history with their kind as a valid motive for your hatred, but Thranduil is not responsible for your woes, and therefore deserves, if nothing more, neutral formality and royal courtesy, from another monarch. You disgrace yourself in acting like a lowly orc, with your petty insults and vile jeering." She fixed her uncle with a steely glare, and held it until he cowered and turned away. "You disgrace our family!"

Having sufficiently chastised Dain, Dis turned her attention to Thorin who was gapping at her like a nervous schoolboy.

"And you, your highness, are the reason for all this mess. You let your own contempt for Thranduil's betrayal from decades ago cloud your inner judgment. You've been nothing but an uncouth beast to our guest since the moment he arrived. And whilst everyone else in your company has found room in their hearts to forgive him and some like your nephews have even made an effort to get to know him; you've kept up with your petty pride and ill treatment." She banged her hands on the table top with enough force to shake a nearby fruit bowl. "I will stand for it no more! For Aule's sake Thorin, he is the mother of your children, he has your babes growing inside of him! He had the option to rid himself of this burden and he refused. These children mean everything to him, as they should to you! And what do you do when someone begins spewing vile muck about your children, but hold your tongue and go along with it like a gelded pup! I'm sick of it! You shame us King under the Mountain. Your people deserve a better leader, than a narrow-minded dwarrow with more hatred than common sense. " She finished by spitting at her feet, and with one final growl of frustration, stormed from the room like a hurricane; waiting staff parting before her like wind-blown stalks of wheat.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * atkat=silence


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst galore!

Fili was first to reach the elf's chambers, pushing the doors open and ushering Thranduil and his brother inside. The Elvenking looked sickly; his alabaster skin shinning with sweat under the yellow light.

"Fili, bring some water!" ordered his brother, depositing his friend on the bed. The blonde was quick to abide, returning only a moment later with a fresh bowl of water and a hand towel. He sat the dish on the bedside table and soaked the cloth. Once it was heavy he wringed it dry and pressed the fabric to Thranduil's heated brow.

"Aren't elves suppose to be cool to the touch?" he asked his brother; brow furrowed in concentration as he dabbed at the elf with outmost care.

"That's what I heard," muttered Kili, pacing agitatedly up and down the room; one hand pressed against his head in display of panic.

"Maybe we should get Oin," said Fili, rewetting the towel, "I heard he was excused from the dinner because he was called to deliver a baby."

"Yes!" exclaimed the brunet, spinning around mid-motion.

"Then go!" barked his brother.

"I don't know where he is? By the time I cover the entire kingdom it will be dawn," he groaned, sagging into himself in despondence.

"Than I'll come with you," decided Fili, reluctant to leave his friend but seeing no other option, being as everyone who could help them was at the feast. "Why is this happening?" he muttered under his breath, using one hand to smooth the hairs stuck to a clammy cheek. Thranduil seemed perfectly fine the day before at the final reading, he was cheerful and energetic; what could have struck so suddenly and so severely overnight? Certainly no ailment he's ever encountered.

"Fading,"breathed a barely audible rasp from between pale lips.

"Tharanduil!" exclaimed the dwarrow, his brother running over to join them.

"What did he say?" asked Kili

"Fading, I think; what's fading my friend," he inquired gently. The elf remained silent and stationary; and for a moment both brother's feared the worst, when the pale lips parted to suck in a raspy breath.

"The love is…gone," he voiced through an exhale, before all consciousness left him. The dwarf brothers exchanged an uneasy look.

"We best find Oin," said Fili, rising from the bed. His brother was already across the room and urgently waving him through the door.

"Lets go!"

* * *

Some time after the dwarrows left him in search of Oin, Thranduil awoke from slumber; unaware that his fever had worsened and he was in a state of perilous delirium. The walls appeared to glow with light to an almost blinding effect. Through his one good eye Thranduil spotted a window by his bedside through which he could see the outline of a creek. The clear water sparkled and danced in the sunlight, its gentle current beckoning him to come forth and wallow in its cooling strength. Behind it lay the outline of Mirkwood; its impression lush and full of life, like it stood at the dawn of the First Age. Greenwood.

He spotted a luminous figure across the creek. It was Gelmir, the elk mount he lost to sickness shortly after the decent of the serpent. An unknown ailment afflicting wildlife in his kingdom struck all, from the smallest of creatures to the mightiest of beasts, indiscriminately. Thranduil watched Gelmir with great sadness approach the stream.

"Come" the vision was singing, "come join us under the sunlight oh Elvenking. Cool your fevered brow in our healing waters. We will wash away all your pain and leave you feeling as rejuvenated as an elfling."

"But I cannot enjoy your magnanimous waters," said he, running one hand over a stone wall where he thought the window to be; "for I am heavy with child and cannot walk very far."

"It is a pity," they sang, "for we could free you from all your suffering." Thranduil watched a wave rise from the stream and shape itself in the form of an arm. The ethereal projection seemed to grown in extension until the translucent fingers were drumming on the other side of the glass. "Perhaps, Elvenking, we are not as far as you think."

Matching his palm against the imprint Thranduil was unexpectedly over come with great joy and exhilaration. The blinding beauty before him beckoned him; its pull overpowering him into motion. Forcing his eyes away from the hypnotic vision, he turned and ran from the room, scarce feeling the weight on him. The entrance to his chambers flew open without any effort. His mind so blinded by fever, it forced what remaining physical strength he had into one last desperate bout of energy.

Thranduil vaguely heard someone call his title, the clumsy beat of boots on stone, something gruff, pronounced in a language he didn't care to know. There was bright light coming from all directions. Red patches on grey stone, like fresh blood on the corpses of Orcs, and yellow fire dancing in the corner of his eye. There was music, a haunting tune of a fiddle; it grew in volume along side the steady beat of his heart; until it deafened him. The notes went sour, the music replaced by the howling of mad cats.

"Stop!" he yelled, covering his ears and shutting his eyes. "Stop, by the Valar! Stop!"

He caught himself in mid-step when a burst of flame came to life before him; forcing him back to the days of old, when he fought the serpents of the North, and the agony he paid for that victory. The noise inside his head grew excruciating. Blinded and deaf the elf was aware of nothing. Once his foot slipped, he didn't stand a chance.

* * *

Thorin sat in the royal study, looking over the seating plans for tomorrow's wedding, and trying to remember why he ever wanted to go though with it to begin with. He knew the moment Thranduil came to Erebor, there was no escaping the wretched permanence of dwarrow love. And still, everyday, he would force himself to stand firm against his affliction; for he believed that the power of a strong resolve can overcome any inherent burden; he had to, his heart could not bare another betrayal when the first one was near fatal to him.

Sighing he shut the planner with a frustrated slam, and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. He hated himself, more than anything! Hated what he had become before and after the war; an arrogant and implacable tyrant. But above all he hated himself for what he had done to his elf; the love that he took; the pain that he inflicted.

Originally the idea to force himself on Thranduil was sparked by the desire to prove to himself, and more importantly to the Elvenking, that the latter was still in love with him, while he desired him not. He needed the elf to feel violated, the way he had made him feel all those months ago in his chamber. Hating himself for enjoying the treatment he received at the hands of his betrayer. The emotional pain it carried, the disgust it left behind. More so the shame of not being trusted by the one he loved, when he was in fact the one who was never dishonest with the other. It was safe to, as it was well know among their kin, that an elf will fade when taken against his will unless the attacker is someone the elf holds dear to his heart. Thorin thought it prudent to show the elf that due to the nature of his feelings for him, he will forever be his commodity, destined to remain under his control. The act would undoubtably enforce this dependence on him, and make him more malleable and easier to maintain.

However after the incident, and in fact all through the heinous act, he couldn't help but feel detached and frozen; like he was no longer in command of his body, but a disembodied spirit, watching with growing distress, the terrible act carried out in front of him.

Afterwards, when he was safely behind the soundproof doors of his chamber, he let out a monstrous roar of rage that rendered him weak, and felled his shaking frame to the floor. And there he stayed, face pressed against the stone, his knuckles beating at marble until the bruises swelled and burst in rivers of blood. Only when his body gave out from dehydration, his shirt and floor soaked with tears, and his hands lying in pools of congealing blood, did he finally succumb to sleep. Still, even in his slumber, his mind was plagued with nightmares of pale lips, and dull and lifeless eyes. A bodiless voice from the darkness chilled the shell of his ears; "you killed me," it hissed, "you killed us all."

A knock on the door startled the Dwarf King from his thoughts. Shaking of the terrible weight his memories placed upon him, he straightened himself in his seat and called to enter. Instantly a page, Vart if his memory served him right, stumbled in, wide-eyed and ruffled; ruby cheeks flushed with exhaustion indicative of a long run.

"My King," he panted, and rushed towards the desk, until he had both hands pressed against the surface to steady himself. Thorin had half a mind to reprimand the boy for his ungallant display of impertinence. A page should know better than to accost a king's personal space with so little regard, and without due pardon.

"What," he settled for barking shortly. The boy looked distressed, a lesson in courtly etiquette would be lost on him in this state.

"There's been," he spoke in between breath of air, "an accident."

Thorin stood so quickly his chair fell to the floor; a cold shiver raced down his spine at the thought of his elf, or Aule forbid his nephews, being injured.

"What?! Who?!" he roared. The page leapt away from his desk and stuttered something nervously under his breath.

"Speak up you fool!" barked the King.

"The Elvenking my lord," the page sobbed, and for the first time since the other had come inside, did he notice the youth was crying. "He fell down a flight of stairs and now lies in the medical wing, being treated for severe concussion and several broken bones, he's also spotting a fever and the healers are not…"

But Thorin didn't hear any of it; he was already across the room and running down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will update my stories on fanfiction.net slightly more frequently, since I'm just now getting the hang of AO3. So for quicker updates and more Thorinduil stories please track me on FF.net :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please R&R :)


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